I haven't written in a while - got back from Perth not long ago. Perth was nice, full of sun, beach and relatives. And shark fears. Can't forget those. There's a shark out there somewhere with a disposition for regularity - two years in a row, it has dropped by the suburban Perth beaches, which groan under the weight of the summer throngs, and selected a fine morsel in the early days of January. The first year, it killed someone, but I think the second one got away. Needless to say, the beaches are empty in early Jan now. But even though we were in the off season, we were still terrified of sea beasties. One day we swam in a protected little pool, content and safe, until we saw a fin nearby. But everyone started pointing, not screaming and it soon turned out to be a stingray masquerading as its larger and scarier cousin. Prick.
Not much to write about my time away, except that my gran is old and getting older, weighed down by emphysema, and you can see she's terrified of what happens next. But what is there to say? She's too strong and set in her ways to take up the crutch of religion at this late a date. Words of solace are impossible. She reads the West Australian daily to see if any of her friends have died. Her bridge group has dwindled through attrition from 15 to eight. What is there to say?
After a quiet week in Perth, we headed south for Christmas to a small town featured in Tim Winton's West Australia. Two cousins came along, 15 and 13, both precocious (broken family) and strangely difficult to deal with. We'd been warned about the thirteen year old - an ADHD child, apparently - and she was a handful, but not in the way I'd expected. West Australia has three times the rate of dexamphetamine prescription, and there was no way she was escaping chemical control (a substitute for a stable background?). Drugging someone into a placid, cow-like mentality seems medically dubious - especially since she seemed not to have a attention deficit, but rather a deficit of attention. The third child, she sought attention for so long they gave it a name and a prescription cure.
I got back on December 30th. I generally hate New Years - overhyped, too many expectations - and was fine with going to a party till midnight and skiving off home. Darling Melinda invited me along to the party she was going to, which sounded fun, but at the last minute she suddenly remembered her new beau was to be there and he would therefore be due a large proportion of her time. I begged off, and made a couple of desperate calls - ah, Willy, up to anything tonight? Oh, I see - but just ended up sounding like a pathetic loser. My housemate walked in, about to head off to her party and found me playing with the new kitten. She took pity on me and cajoled me into going to her party, which turned out to be much fun, although I have a dim, embarassing memory of meeting someone called Jedda, like the early Australian film, and asking her whether she was part-Aboriginal, when it was clear as day she was very European.
Other news - I got offered a position with Nova, but I think I'll turn it down. My brother and I found a fantastic opportunity, which hopefully we'll nail - we'll be Christian pastors in Kyoto, performing marriage ceremonies for Japanese couples who lust after the look of a Western wedding. Seriously. I'd heard of it, but never thought I'd get to do it. What fun! Robes, confetti, Japanese characters chopped up into bite-sized Western syllables, and decent pay too. Hope we get it. We bought our tickets today - leaving mid Feb. Isn't it strange - I made these plans when I was depressed and wanting to change everything around me, so of course life starts picking up in Melbourne, and I'll get to Japan and suffer immediate culture shock and loneliness for the first month.
Thinking: Perhaps the reason tall poppy syndrome is so entrenched in Australia is because there's no equivalent of the American Dream. So we attack those with dreams, the high achievers, dragging them down to our level to be equal in mediocrity. And the underpinnings of mateship and egalitarianism mean we can't scorn those beneath, just those above.
Really, is there any incentive like envy? Over in Perth I came across an article about a 23 year old who'd published a book and written four more, an intelligent guy, clued in, nice work ethic and I thought goddamn, why am I waiting. So now I have a plan for a book, which will no doubt be shit.
Not much to write about my time away, except that my gran is old and getting older, weighed down by emphysema, and you can see she's terrified of what happens next. But what is there to say? She's too strong and set in her ways to take up the crutch of religion at this late a date. Words of solace are impossible. She reads the West Australian daily to see if any of her friends have died. Her bridge group has dwindled through attrition from 15 to eight. What is there to say?
After a quiet week in Perth, we headed south for Christmas to a small town featured in Tim Winton's West Australia. Two cousins came along, 15 and 13, both precocious (broken family) and strangely difficult to deal with. We'd been warned about the thirteen year old - an ADHD child, apparently - and she was a handful, but not in the way I'd expected. West Australia has three times the rate of dexamphetamine prescription, and there was no way she was escaping chemical control (a substitute for a stable background?). Drugging someone into a placid, cow-like mentality seems medically dubious - especially since she seemed not to have a attention deficit, but rather a deficit of attention. The third child, she sought attention for so long they gave it a name and a prescription cure.
I got back on December 30th. I generally hate New Years - overhyped, too many expectations - and was fine with going to a party till midnight and skiving off home. Darling Melinda invited me along to the party she was going to, which sounded fun, but at the last minute she suddenly remembered her new beau was to be there and he would therefore be due a large proportion of her time. I begged off, and made a couple of desperate calls - ah, Willy, up to anything tonight? Oh, I see - but just ended up sounding like a pathetic loser. My housemate walked in, about to head off to her party and found me playing with the new kitten. She took pity on me and cajoled me into going to her party, which turned out to be much fun, although I have a dim, embarassing memory of meeting someone called Jedda, like the early Australian film, and asking her whether she was part-Aboriginal, when it was clear as day she was very European.
Other news - I got offered a position with Nova, but I think I'll turn it down. My brother and I found a fantastic opportunity, which hopefully we'll nail - we'll be Christian pastors in Kyoto, performing marriage ceremonies for Japanese couples who lust after the look of a Western wedding. Seriously. I'd heard of it, but never thought I'd get to do it. What fun! Robes, confetti, Japanese characters chopped up into bite-sized Western syllables, and decent pay too. Hope we get it. We bought our tickets today - leaving mid Feb. Isn't it strange - I made these plans when I was depressed and wanting to change everything around me, so of course life starts picking up in Melbourne, and I'll get to Japan and suffer immediate culture shock and loneliness for the first month.
Thinking: Perhaps the reason tall poppy syndrome is so entrenched in Australia is because there's no equivalent of the American Dream. So we attack those with dreams, the high achievers, dragging them down to our level to be equal in mediocrity. And the underpinnings of mateship and egalitarianism mean we can't scorn those beneath, just those above.
Really, is there any incentive like envy? Over in Perth I came across an article about a 23 year old who'd published a book and written four more, an intelligent guy, clued in, nice work ethic and I thought goddamn, why am I waiting. So now I have a plan for a book, which will no doubt be shit.
posted by Doug @ 1/05/2005 11:26:00 am
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